


Man in Black

by mwestbelle



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Consent Play, M/M, Rape Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like many upstanding Night Vale citizens, Cecil has certain fantasies about menacing government agents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man in Black

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "consent play" square for Kink Bingo

The night air is hot and dry, blowing through the open window like a whisper. Cecil enjoys working late into the night, when everyone else is asleep. His notes are spread across the kitchen table, and he hums to himself as he works, outlining upcoming shows in waxy purple crayon.

There is a hard knock on the door, loud in the quiet night. Cecil sets his crayon aside and goes to answer the door; it's far past the hours anyone should be visiting, but as the Voice of Night Vale he's used to occasionally entertaining townsfolk with important stories at any time. But when he opens the door, it isn't a citizen at all, but a Menacing Government Agent, clad entirely in black from his heavy boots to his leather gloves to the balaclava that covers his face and holding a thick police baton in one hand.

"Oh." Cecil holds onto the edge of the door. "What a surprise. Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

The agent says nothing, but steps inside, looking around the room. Cecil goes up onto his toes, nervously watching the agent stalk around his living room. He has nothing to hide, of course, but a nighttime raid is highly irregular at this time of year. There are usually warning signs, a preponderance of helicopters, crackly transmissions that he isn't supposed to be able to pick up on the equipment at the station. Nothing.

A sharp rap startles him out of his reverie. The agent has whacked his baton against the top of an end table and now gestures with it, pointing towards the open doorway to his bedroom.

"You need to see the bedroom? Very well, right this way." Cecil leads the agent back, trying to quelch the strange curl of dread in the pit of his stomach. This sort of inspection is perfectly natural and routine, he's done it a thousand times, but for some reason tonight it feels...different. He walks in first, and jumps when the door slams behind him. He turns to find the agent turning the lock on the door. "Look here, what do you think you're doing?"

But the agent is coming towards him, his big hand closing around Cecil's throat punishingly tight. Cecil gasps, scrabbling at the man's thick arm, but he's too strong. He's so strong, pushing Cecil down onto his neatly made bed.

"Please, don't," Cecil chokes out, but the agent is turning him around, manhandling him into place with ruthless efficiency. They're very efficient, these government agents, you...you have to admire that. It's very efficient when the man undoes the buckle of his belt, opens up his skinny trousers, tugs them and his underwear just over his ass. Just far enough to force his legs apart.

"I...don't. God, don't do this." Cecil swallows hard, trying to choke down emotion along with saliva. "I have a boyfriend. A...perfect, wonderful boyfriend. Please don't do this to me."

"Green?" The rasped voice, muffled through the balaclava startles him, and Cecil shudders, arching his back and presenting himself.

" _Green_ , yes."

The agent slaps his hip with the baton, hard, to silence him. Cecil gasps and bites his lip. It stings enough to bring tears to his eyes; he can already tell that a fat purple welt will form there. There's a clatter as the baton falls to the ground, and oh, the tears really start to flow when gloved fingers start to push his cheeks open, tease over his hole. The leather is buttery smooth but they're dry, so dry, and he cries out when one fingertip slips inside.

"I can't take that." Cecil breathes in hard through his nose, tries to blink the tears away. Thankfully, the next time he's touched, it's slick.

He's prepped quickly and not nearly enough. When the agent pushes his cock in, Cecil screams from the stretch of it. He's never been so used; the man fucks him relentlessly, in and out with big gloved hands on his hips, holding him in place or dragging him back into the agent's thick cock. He curls his hands in the sheets, holding on as best he can, knuckles white from the strain. If he can focus on that ache, perhaps he can forget that he is here now.

But he can't ignore his own cock, his poor traitorous cock that is desperately hard against his belly even as he cries. The agent pays no attention to him, his pathetic cock, just fucks him, uses him, as though he's nothing more than a warm hole. In Night Vale, he commands a certain amount of respect, but menacing government agencies don't care how popular his show is, that he's the one the citizens of Night Vale count on to inform them, to console them, to guide them. To this agent, he's nothing but a body.

The silence is the worst, he thinks. When he and Carlos make love, they talk, tell each other how incredible they are, moan. The agent doesn't even grunt; the only sound is the slap of flesh on flesh, the rhythm of the merciless snap of his hips.

The agent fucks him until he comes, and then he pulls out, just as methodical and impersonal as before. The come drips down the insides of Cecil's thighs, and he feels so disgusting, filthy. He buries his tear-stained face in his hands, listening to the heavy clomp of boots as the agent goes to unlock the door and leave. He keeps his forehead against the cool sheets, taking slow deep breaths as he centers again.

There's a gasp behind him, and Cecil carefully rolls onto his side to look back towards the door. Carlos shakes out his perfect hair, holding the balaclava in one hand. He looks flushed and a bit sweaty. Cecil smiles a little. "Are you okay?"

"These things are incredibly hot." Carlos huffs and drops the hood to the floor before tugging off his gloves. "I don't know how they stand it." He pushes the boots off next, so in stocking feet he can pad quietly over the carpet to join Cecil on the bed. "Are _you_ okay? Was that...was it what you wanted? Can I touch you?"

Cecil closes his eyes. "Yes to all." Carlos's hand is sweaty against his forehead as he brushes some hair to the side, but the skin contact is still comforting. His cock is still hard, but he takes a few minutes to rest, to listen to the sound of Carlos's breath and remember that he is loved.

Then he moves Carlos's hand down, close enough for him to get the idea. Carlos turns into him, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck as he wraps his hand around Cecil's cock. He strokes him slow and easy with his careful warm hand, letting Cecil luxuriate in the sensation. He thinks about how rough it was before; Carlos hadn't quite understood _why_ , Cecil thinks, but he didn't question him, even though he's a scientist and understanding things is his job. He did what Cecil needed, and now he's taking care of him.

"You are a very good boyfriend," Cecil says, just before he comes. He gasps when he actually comes, over his belly and Carlos's hand.

"Thank you." Carlos smiles and leans in to kiss the corner of Cecil's mouth. Then he goes to get a tissue from the nightstand, wiping Cecil and his hand clean, and wads it up and throws it out the window, so it will be easier for the Sheriff's Secret Police to collect. Carlos is learning so quickly.

Cecil tugs the sheet up over his body, watching as Carlos strips down, out of his heavy black clothes down to a pair of slightly mottled purple boxers. He holds the sheet up so Carlos can slip underneath, curling up against him despite the heat of the night.


End file.
